Past the Point of No Return
by Lady Darcy-Riddle
Summary: What if Hermione and Ron, instead of continually hiding their feelings, went "past the point of no return?" Some meaningless but passionate arguments and quidditch bring them to the point where their feelings cannot be ignored.


Past the Point of No Return

Disclaimer: There should be one, but I'm not going to put one. You all know how it goes. Oh, wait, and I can't spell anything correctly.

Author's Note: I have a title. We'll go from there. This was inspired by me getting tired of Hermione/Ron where they just yearn for each other and get in uncomfortable situations (basically from reading She's A Star's Hermoine/Ron one-shots- good inspiration!). To explain some upcoming immature behavior, I think Hermione and Ron regress to five year old behavior in this because it's fun to write and they have to cope with billions of years of unrequited love somehow.

"Know what we should do?" Hermione Granger asked. She was draped over an armchair in the common room with, for her, an unusual air of boredom and lack of space conservation. In fact, her position resembled Ron's. He was spread over a couch in his typical gangly fashion.

"No," he answered, gazing up at the ceiling as if he could actually see it to count the cracks. Alas, his view was obscured by shadows, making it impossible to dispel one smidgeon of boredom.

"I was hoping you'd know," Hermione dead panned without intent. She ran one very bored hand through her frizzy hair and considered that today, of all days, would be ideal for straightening her hair. However, she would never allow herself to do so, no matter how bored she was. So, there they were, lying around the common room like they had no other purpose than to take up space. Hermione felt bad about that.

"I think the entire world has left our school to go home for Christmas or go to Hogsmeade." Ron commented, wrinkling his noise in that familiar way that always made Hermione smile. He wished for only a second that Harry was not off claiming some alone time and probably buying their Christmas gifts. After a second, Ron came to the realization that this had left him alone with Hermione. Even he couldn't be happy about that; "Fat lot of good it does you mate," Ron grumbled, almost silently enough not to be heard by the object of his affection and general disaffection, "it will never get anywhere, only go in painful circles."

Unluckily for Ron, and Hermione, this was another circle moment. "Are you quite alright Ron?" Hermoine asked quizzically. She dropped her feet onto the rug and gave him that look that infuriatingly reminded him of his mother.

For a moment, Ron stared at her in horror, eyes bulging like he had seen a spider. Was he going insane? Oh wait, he reminded himself, he was insane. No other way to explain falling in love with his best friend who enjoyed school to a degree simply unholy and who reminded him of his mother and just generally drove him 'round the bend. Yep, insane he was.

In the interim, Hermione managed to get in a few more concerned words that would have been great had she been Ron's psyciawitch. "Ron? You don't look well. Is there something you want to talk about?" The delay also allowed her to move over to the, ah, oversized loveseat Ron had collapsed on and take a seat near his head. Hermione felt guilty enough for taking advantage of his distress; the fact that her fingers were itching to reach out a very few inches more and tangle themselves in his unbearably messy hair did not help. It was really annoying how he made it look almost as messy as Harry's on purpose, she supposed just to annoy her, however Harry's hair just wasn't as . . . sexy.

Hermione's hand shot to her mouth as if she had spoken just as Ron thought of a suitable repartee to her long hanging question. "No." Hermione was confused, but quickly recovered, mentally cursing that damn attractive hair. Oh, no she was not going to be distracted by how attractive it was, especially now when it was falling into his eyes because he was working up to glaring at her.

Focus, Hermione told herself. Be involved in the ar. . . no, it was still a conversation. Make it an argument! That was it. "Ron, I think we should talk." Hermione said it her most convincing tone.

Gods, how annoying could she be. That was the voice of death she was using. "No, we shouldn't talk." We should be way beyond talking at this point, thought Ron. For example… oh NOT going there.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. They both put their minds to the argument that their hearts were against with a similarity of purpose that they would have pretended to be disgusted at had they known.

Five minutes later the argument was completely worn out, although for the safety of their own egos they were still glaring at each other. For people who pretended to hate each other, they were oddly close together.

Ron, pretending disgust at the argument and that he didn't give a damn what Hermione was doing, pried a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages out from under the seat cushions. "Blimey!" the red head exclaimed with exuberance, "argument" forgotten, "this is where that thing went!" Hermione sniffed, showing contempt for anyone who could so easily lose track of something so "important." Secretly, she really found Ron's obsession with quidditch cute. This added to her discomfort with the sport in general, as any discussion of it with Ron led to rather uncomfortable feelings.

Ron leaned back into the cushions, his head scooting a few inches closer to Hermione's thighs. "Is that the only book you can be engrossed in?" Hermione sniffed. She really did wish he would read something else for pleasure. It was perplexing how she could be so in love with someone who didn't like to read, Hermione commented to herself. That thought was immediately followed by one of "NOT THAT!" Why did that have to come up every minute of the day?

Ron ignored her and laughed at something in the book. Hermione rolled her eyes, which was only to mask the fact that she had to stop staring at Ron or she'd do something really stupid. "Hermione! This chapter reminds me of you!" Ron cried, eyes crinkling with laughter.

Hermione plucked the book out of Ron's hands. The chapter was entitled "Famous Flying Blunders." She couldn't resist smacking Ron on the head with the book. It made a pleasant smacking sound. Even though the book was about quidditch, there were plenty of pages to create a nice resonant tone.

Ron vainly tried to protect his head, laughing all the harder. "No, really. I was reading about a chaser who had a fear of heights and ended up vomiting midair and accidentally flying through it. It reminded me of how nauseated you looked first year when Madame Hooch taught us to fly," he explained.

"Ronald Weasley!" exclaimed a grossed-out Hermione, starting to attack him with the book again. She had the upper hand as long as Ron was lying down and she sitting up. However he soon realized this and half-tackled her off the couch onto the rug. In the heat of the fight, they forget to be embarrassed. Hermione continued her attack and Ron continued to half-heartedly defend himself.

"You were practically green!" he shrieked, voice cracking in that annoying way it had. He thought it should have been done with that; he was sixteen.

"Well, I kept control of myself!" Hermione shrieked back. She abandoned the book and shoved him.

Ron shoved her back. By virtue of being a lot stronger than Hermione and used to sibling brawls where he had to fight off Fred and George and/or whatever horrid magical or non-magical trick that shoved had a lot of force behind it. Fuzzy haired bookworm found herself on her back with the quidditch obsessed red head pinning her to the carpet.

Both were a little to involved in this argument (and the subliminal benefits of not realizing how uncomfortable it is to have your best friend/much-more-than-a-crush on top of you) to bother with such a little thing as crazy amount of sexual tension it was causing. Hermione, too ready to argue to act uncomfortable, wiggled and took at shot. "Well, I recall a certain someone who has vomited and they were vomiting slugs!"

It really was an odd event to pick; the Malfloy/Mudblood incident had only encouraged her feelings for Ron. Ron found it a very good comeback, especially as he could argue about it. "Hey, remember I was defending you from that sick bastard!" Ron yelled indignantly.

"So?" was all Hermione could come up with. She fully extradited herself from under Ron.

"So, I've found what we're going to do with all this extra time." Ron was ready to drop that argument for he had a much better one to start. The provoking grin he had from years of Hermione bating was playing across his features in an unusually self-satisfied way.

"I was thinking we might as well study." Hermione remarked. She was one crazy woman, Ron thought. He was positive that she was entirely serious.

"Hermione, there is no bloody way we are wasting our free time in the library," said Ron, putting on his old why-would-anyone-like-learning act. He was rewarded with one of the old Ronald-Weasley-you-should-focus-on-school looks he had learned to treasure in his days of Hermione bating, and still did, to tell the truth.

"What do you suggest?"

"You, Hermione Granger, are finally going to learn how to fly and you are going to enjoy it." The smirk on Ron's face was unbelievably wide. So were Hermione's eyes. While she gaped, Ron Accio-ed coats, gloves, and broom and dragged Hermione out into the snowy cold December afternoon.

"Ron! I hate flying!" Hermione protested as the boy maneuvered her into her coat. She had gone into defense mode by freezing up and keeping her body stiff and was therefore shivering in a Weasley sweater. This made Ron more appreciative of the Weasley sweaters as a whole, forcing him to admit at least one person could make them look completely unembarrassing, and well, attractive.

"No you don't. You just think you do."

"No I dooooooooooooooooo!" Hermione's answered stretched itself out across the lake and the forbidden forest as Ron had taken advantage of her distraction to quickly get her on the broom and take off.

As they glided twenty feet off the ground, neither of them spoke a word. Hermione was contemplating how many broken bones she would get if she fell, how much she hated broomsticks, how far the grass was below her, and how she should not be on the verge of melting off the broom just because Ron's arms were around her. Ron's thoughts were pretty much the same, minus the first three.

Finally the silence was broken by Ron clearing his throat. He then coughed, taking one hand off the broom handle to prevent germs from spewing all over Hermione's neck. The resulting lack of security cause Hermione to utter a very high pitch squeak.

"Ron! What are you doing?" she squealed, clutching the broomstick and at the same time trying to not lean forward. This caused the broom to float higher in the air, and thus causing more squeals. By this time Ron was laughing.

"See Hermione. You've got it. If you pull up, it moves up," Ron sniggered. Hermione wished she could turn around and glare at him, but the thought of doing so while they spiraled around Gryffindor tower was nauseating.

"Ron please get us down!" Hermione begged, "As much as I love you. . ." There she paused, and racked her brain for someway for that not to mean what it really meant. "In a platonic way and value your friendship, this is one near-death experience that I do not want to share with you." Internally, Hermione sighed with relief and congratulated herself on regaining her usual bossy tone.

"Did she just say she loved me?" thought Ron. He wished it could be true, but Hermione was still bossy Hermione, completely blind to his feelings for her. Well, that meant he didn't have to be nice to her.

"I'm insulted! You aren't going to die!" With that angry statement Ron took both hands off the broom.

Hermione let out a wail that could have woken the dead.

"Calm down. How are you supposed to learn if I do everything for you?" said Ron, completely unperturbed, all the while hoping he wouldn't get in the way of some bad hexes when he returned her two feet to the ground.

With great presence of mind, Hermione let out another sound effect. When she had regained her powers of speech, she pointed out, voice quavering, "that she hadn't planned on learning while 50 feet about the Hogwarts roof."

"Beggars can't be choosers," answered an unsympathetic Ron, "You had your chance first year to learn with only the grass and a few feet of air, so now you've got to take what you've got."

Hermione tried a last ditch defense to get her feet with something more substantial than gas beneath them. "Did you ask Harry if you could borrow his firebolt?"

"Well, he's been letting me practice with it lately, and I'm sure that once he finds out how amusing you are scared out of your wits and without the aid of your books, he won't mind a bit." With that and the result of careful practice, Ron cause the firebolt to summersault, still without his hands. The noise was deafening. Seconds after they had righted themselves, Ron put his hands back on the broom and the zoomed away. Hermione was still screaming.

After ages for Hermione, Ron landed back on the lawn near the great hall as it was time for dinner. Breathing shallowly with eyes wide, Hermione launched on a tirade to take on all tirades. "Ronald Weasley! If avada kedavra wasn't illegal I would kill you! Do you know that is the nearest to death that I ever feel I've been. I can't trust you on a broom, you maniac! Is it even safe to put two people on one of those things?"

Ron just let her go on, pretending to be repentant. He was really observing how pretty she was when angry. He'd never really noticed it before. Her brown eyes were sharpened with the flames that had sprung into being in their depths. Her cheeks were bright pink, only partially from the cold.

Ron did catch on for the end the tirade. "Don't you dare tell anyone about this. I know you're planning to amuse the entire table with how I'm such an idiot when you get me on a broom but don't even think about it," Hermione finished, taking deep breaths.

"Whatever," Ron said sassily, "Lets go eat."

Ron and Hermione were the last to enter the great hall. Their entrance was rewarded with an amused look from Dumbledore, whispering among the other professors, except for Snape who gave his whispering colleges a glare. The students looked up also. Hermione and Ron winced, not enjoying the attention they were receiving for unknown reasons. It could simply have been Hermione's hair which had be severely tousled by nippy winter winds and high speed flight.

Harry looked up with a grin as his friends sat down on either side of him. "So, how was the firebolt you two?" he asked as he dug into his shepherd's pie.

"Oh lovely" grinned Ron.

"Oh, I wouldn't know, Harry," said Hermione innocently, trying to shoot a glare at Ron that Harry couldn't see. She failed.

"Yes, and that's why your hair looks like it was attacked by a hippogriff," snorted Ron.

"Sure, Hermione. I believe that Ron was the one screaming his head off on my broom when I was walking back from Hogsmeade," added Harry.

That caught the attention of a Hufflepuff first year who was sitting a few chairs down from them. The small blond haired girl paused in the rendition of her story about the chilling noises she had heard and turned to look at the trio. "Did you hear noises too Harry?" she asked, checks scarlet at her pluck at addressing Harry Potter.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, "awfully frightful they were, weren't they?"

The girl looked about to crawl under the table from an attack of shyness, but managed to remark, "Oh yes! I was so worried. Do you know what it was?"

Ron sniggered, and Hermione looked prepared to be extremely put out. "Oh don't worry. It was just 'Mione here. She doesn't take well to flying. Sorry to alarm you." Ron explained most graciously.

"Really! That was her!" exclaimed the little foursome of Hufflepuffs, who were listening intently.

"What was who?" asked the Ravenclaw Head Girl, Celeste from the other side of the table.

Although Ron could see that Hermione was close to jumping up and strangling him, he continued gaily on. "Hermione. Screaming like a banshee. On a broom. This afternoon." the daredevil red head explained.

Hermione let out one of her patented Hermione squeals of anguished annoyance. Every other student broke into sniggers. The group was rather larger than previous years, so the teachers who were farther up the table hadn't heard. Yet.

"Ron, did ya say somethin' bout our 'Moine." Hagrid asked, jovial eyes twinkling like an evil, dark haired Santa.

"Oh, Ron was just talking about what we did this afternoon," lied Hermione. As Ginny took that moment to fall off her chair with unsuccessfully repressed giggles, Hagrid didn't believe her.

"Oh well, really she was. I was just saying I attempted to teach her to fly but she just shrieked like a banshee," Ron yelled up the table.

"Oh so that's what those sounds were. I was wondering if something had gotten loose from Defense Against the Dark Arts," remarked Professor Sinistra, "I was rather disturbed when I was grading my star charts." Snape scowled at the thought of yet another incompetent DADA teacher.

"No wonder my aura was fraught with tension of impending death," mused Professor Trelawney.

"Whose death?" asked Harry, "Hermione's or Ron's?"

"Oh, dear, I felt that it was much more inclined to be a male. No wonder I was seeing so much red," Trelawney continued in pensive manner. By now all the teachers were slowly cracking smiles.

"So 'Mione, learn how to fly yet?" asked Hagrid pleasantly.

"I'd rather die than get on another broom," Hermione spat.

Ron and Harry exchanged looks, the latter of warning and the former of success. "Well, considering your closeness to banshee when on one, I think it'd be us that'd be dying," Ron, "But then again, is it just the thought of failure that holds you back? Would it kill you?"

For some reason that was hilarious to almost the entire lunch party. Harry jabbed Ron, pointing out that Snape had actually cracked a smile. Ginny fell off her chair again.

Hermione stood up and knocked her chair over. She was turning red as a beet, but sounded like a banshee. "Ronald Weasley!" was the only the thing she said, before storming out of the Great Hall, most likely to the common room.

The laughter continued a little bit longer, Celeste remarking, "_Mon dieu_, I wouldn't like to get a Howler from her!", and then dwindled down as everyone chose to stare at Ron instead. He looked down at his food, but then gave up.

"Fine, I'll go find her. Bloody girls with tempers like my mother," Ron muttered, slowly getting up and ambling off after her. Harry and Ginny clapped, for a reason quite perplexing to Ron. He rolled his eyes as he slipped through the heavy wooden door that led to the staircase. Now where was she? Hermione must have run off afterwards, or she wouldn't have gotten far enough to be out of sight. She must have gone to her room.

Ron climbed through the portrait hole into a deserted common room. No sign of her yet. "Hermoine?" he yelped. His voice echoed, worried, in the empty space, but no sign of life came from the girl's staircase. Where could she have gone.

"Oh, not there!" Ron exclaimed, smacking himself on the forehead. "No bloody way!"

"Hermoine," he said to the absent girl, "You are completely off your rocker."

Ron headed back through the portrait hole. "Well ya didn't need to disturb me for all that," the Pink lady complained to his back, "You woke me from my nap! Inconsiderate youngster!" Ron quickened his pace, completely ignoring her.

When Ron reached the library, he was worried. Of all her habits, he chose to put going to the library when anything was wrong on his hate list. Why did the girl have to resort to books during all trying situations? If she was here, he was in big trouble.

And she was. The library had appeared completely empty, with no sign Madame Pierce was about to swoop down on him and suspiciously question him why he was invading her domain at such an odd hour. Soon Ron detected muted snuffling noises from the restricted section.

Ron rounded the last shelf to see Hermione leaning against the books. Her back was to him, but he could see her shoulders shaking. Oh god, she wasn't crying. No. Ron did not know what to do about tears, much less how to deal with the fact that his heart was being stampeded with the hippogriffs of guilt.

"Hermione?" he ventured. He got only a sniff in response. It was a very angry, passionate sniff though. Scared to alarm her, he reached out and touched her shoulder very lightly with just the tips of his fingers. Just as he had feared, she flinched away, with a renewed bout of sobbing. Ron looked into the fuzzy bush of hair, facing him like a shield while his best friend and love hid her face in dusty, restricted books. He ran his hand through his hair, hoping that it would come out with the solution. Ron wanted to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness, then just wrap his arms around her and hold her until the sobs subsided. Nothing told him how to deal with a rational Hermione in such an emotional state, so the lovesick boy dropped to his knees and scooted up behind her.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I should have let you alone." Ron whispered, this time braver, brave enough to place his whole hand on her shoulder. He couldn't bare to see her like this, all due to his immaturity. And as much as he wanted to tell her it was all an act, that the arguments were all a cover for how much he loved her, he couldn't because he didn't want to cause her more pain than he already had.

"Ron. It's. .. it's not your fault." Hermione stuttered through her tears.

"If it wasn't my fault, why are you up here, crying into a shelf of books after I stupidly humiliated your infront of everyone," Ron answered vehemently. He wouldn't let her blame herself for his immaturity, for that's all it was. "Don't blame yourself. I'm responsible. I'm sorry for all those times I bated you."

Ron took her shoulders in his hands, careful not to let his feelings get in the way and just sweep her into his arms. Hands wrapped around two hunched, hiding shoulders, he pulled Hermione out of the books to face him. Her brown eyes were still dropping tears and each salty drop felt like it had been dropped, strong as an acid, into his ravaged heart, where they burned as a physical sign of his guilt. Before he could stop himself, his left hand reached up and wiped away the tear that was trailing down her check and tearing up his heart. Quickly he pulled it back, taking her hands in his. They knelt facing each other, one face covered in tears, giving an ache to its beauty and the other all soft eyes trying to understand what went wrong.

"It's not your fault," Hermione sobbed, making Ron physically wince from guilt, "It's mine." She shook her head as if deny his assertion again. "First year I would have been up here, trying to scream how much I could h-hate you at times. But I've changed. And I can't go back. I say horrid, annoying, motherly things to you to hide it. But I can't, because you don't understand why and, and, you say the same things back to me, but then it hurts. Because I don't want you to think of me like that. Because, because I don't mean it. Because I love you and every time you fight back it tells me I'll never have you because you're just a friend and we should just be friends and I can't be happy like that and I just hurt myself and I can't make it stop, and…" Hermione was stopped by a fresh wave of sobs, penned up emotions surfacing in a flow of tears to follow the torrent of words.

Ron stared. She had said those words he had been dreaming about saying to her since what seemed eternity. She was just as in love with him, her mirror opposite, as he was with her. It seemed like the words wanted to slip away, as if Hermione wished they could flow out of his mind like her dried tears were buried under the trails of wetness on her face. He was not letting go. "Hermione, did you say you loved me?" he asked, more intent than in any argument with her, more convinced than he had always been that she was wrong.

Hermione looked up, scared. She had not meant to say that, to say anything. She had meant to cry herself out, alone among the books, and go back to things as they were. "N-no," she answered, more afraid of losing his friendship than of never gaining his love. She was resigned.

Ron was not. He knew what she would do, retreat away from her emotions as she always did, bury them with heavy books and knowledge. He was not going to let her. "Yes you did. You know you did and you know you meant it, you're not convincing me to forget. Because I love you."

Hermione was still scared, still held down by the weight of years of secret tears. "Ron, I'm just a little emotional. I'm sorry for doubting your friendship," she answered, faking her usual steadiness.

"Hermione, I know you're scared. But we've passed the point of no return. We are not going to go back to all those antagonizing moments of getting too close, too close to our feelings. I love you, not just as a friend, I love you Hermione Granger and you are not going to run away from me." He reached out and smoothed her tears with her thumb, this time confident in touching her. She looked at him, eyes glowing with unshed tears, mouth pursed to keep something else from flying unsuspected from her lips. "Hermione," Ron whispered, feeling the possession he had of that name. Impulsively, he pulled her close.

"Ron," she whispered in his ear, " I do love you."

He smiled, and pulled out of the embrace. "Do you?"

She was confused, and he hated to torture her. "I do, Ron Weasley," she said with a hint of her usual bossiness.

She seemed wont to continue, so to silence her he threaded his hand into her hair and pulled her into a kiss.


End file.
